“Tread Lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.”
Requiescat, Oscar Wilde, 1881
Wilde wrote this poem for his sister Isola, who died of meningitis aged 9.
(via mirroir)
“Everyone’s gonna die. It’s a natural part of life. But if life has no purpose, you’re dead already.”
“Her life – that was the only chance she had – the short season between two silences.”
Virginia Woolf, The Voyage Out
via franflow * vwvw (via frenchtwist)
“He made me love him without looking at me.”